


Dessert

by hallowtidings



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowtidings/pseuds/hallowtidings
Summary: Nancy teases Jonathan by going commando and suggesting darkroom sex, and he has the best lunch he's ever had.





	Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a long time and first ever for this fandom, so please be kind!

It starts as an ordinarily mediocre day, as they all do. He burns his toast while he helps Will open a new jar of jelly but he's too hungry to let it go to waste, and it doesn't actually taste that bad as a PBJ. He finds a smudge of peanut butter on his flannel overshirt just as he walks through the school doors, but Jonathan figures (mostly likely correctly) that nobody but Nancy is going to be looking at him closely enough to see it. He's got his usual dopey hi-I'm-a-teen-in-love smile on his face that he gets whenever he thinks about Nancy Wheeler, when he notices something fall to the ground as he opens his locker. When he picks it up he has never been so glad to be boring dorky Jonathan Byers as far as the rest of Hawkins High is concerned, and is able to keep his rapidly blushing face unseen as he looks at the photo of Nancy that she's slipped into the vents of his locker.

   Nancy Wheeler has somehow managed to sneak her mother's Polaroid camera her bedroom, and taken a picture of herself with her back to the camera, holding up the back of her skirt only to reveal  _ hold-up stockings  _ and  _ no underwear  _ and she is fucking  _ winking  _ over her shoulder at the camera and Jonathan think he may actually die. Until, that is, he turns the photo over and sees in her neat 4.0 GPA cursive handwriting the words ‘Fancy some dessert in the darkroom? 12.30 xoxo’ and he  _ knows  _ he will actually die because holy fuck, what did he do to deserve this? He somehow manages to survive his morning lessons without poking anyone in the eye with his very awkward and very stubborn boner (he is grateful for once for his unfashionably loose jeans) and is partially through composing his will in his head when the bell for lunch finally rings, and he has never moved so fast in his life as he runs to the darkroom.

    The door to the darkroom is locked. His stomach drops before he realises that duh, Nancy would be pretty keen on not being disturbed. His stomach flies up to somewhere around his eyebrows as he tentatively knocks on the door and manages to squeak out a ‘Nancy? It's uh, it's me?’ and he’s rewarded with a very smug Nancy opening the door and practically tearing his arm off as she drags him inside. ‘So you liked my picture, huh? Took me a while to get the timer setting right but I think it worked out alright…’ she trails off, practically purring and looking at him like he's the damn dessert. This is it he thinks, he's going die but it's going to be a fucking fantastic death, and actually _growls_ as he grabs Nancy's face and kisses her fiercely. She moans and pulls him into her, rubbing her thigh between his legs like some gorgeous randy alley cat, wriggling in pleasure against his broad lean chest.

    They're panting as they come up for air, barely visible to each other in the gloom but they've made out in here so much they're both used to it, and of course Jonathan knows the room like the back of his hand. In a flash of inspiration as his cock leaks against his thigh and his girlfriend sighs and moans like she's starving for him, he takes off his peanut-buttery flannel overshirt and lays it folded-up on the spare bench he usually eats lunch on if he spends his break in here. A slightly hysterical giggle threatens to spill out of him at the thought of Nancy being his lunch today, and he spins her around in his arms a couple of times in his arms before depositing her, beautifully rumpled, on his shirt. ‘Thinking ahead, are we?’ she asks with an eyebrow raised, which only rises further when he replies with ‘I know how much of a mess you can make Nance, and I’m not about to have Mr Rhodes on my back because of you, OK?’, before sucking a hickey underneath her earlobe and making her shiver and wriggle against him. ‘That's better,’ he murmurs, kissing a trail of biting kisses along her jawline and down her neck. He's normally slower and more gentle, less direct than this, but he may explode if someone doesn't come soon and he just wants to get his mouth tongue fingers cock inside his girl.       Nancy is wordless and whining by the time he suckles on her nipple through her shirt, wet fabric rubbing against sensitive skin deliciously. He was just too impatient to undress her, but he stores that information away for later as he kneels down and hooks Nancy's legs over his shoulders.

    She is totally, gloriously naked under her skirt, except for her stockings. Eating Nancy out is his favourite thing in the world - he even did it their first night together in the bunker, much to Nancy's surprise and delight - and just the smell of her as her skirt falls over his head like some kind of weird sexy veil is enough to make him groan like a dying man, as her thighs rub restlessly against his shoulders and he presses kisses against her gorgeously full silky bush. He's drowning, drowning in her, everything about her is ridiculously hot and he feels like some explorer diving for pearls as he parts her outer lips and gently swirls his tongue around her clit. She is so, so wet, and tastes so, so good, and he sighs in pleasure as she sinks against him while making lovely little gasps and moans as he starts lapping her up. He suckles and licks and teases, knowing exactly how far to push her before drawing her back from the edge, though he’s not too mean to resist sliding a couple of fingers inside her as her moans start rising in pitch and volume.

    He finds himself not giving a shit that someone might hear as she gasps when he crooks his fingers against the spongy little bump that makes her go crazy, and her soaking his chin only makes him slip a third finger inside as he sucks on her clit and groans in delight when she tug on his hair. ‘J-jonnn-jonathan!’ she whimpers as she starts to spasm helplessly, which only makes him keep his rhythm even tighter and more ruthless as he expertly steers her towards climax. He fucking loves it. He could do this all day every day if he’d let her, and he honestly can't think of a better meal than Nancy's pussy open like a flower, like a gorgeous pink seashell in front of him for him alone. She swears as her body goes rigid against him and a musky tangy fluid that is somehow concentrated essence of Nancy (freaking  _ delicious _ ) soaks his face, and her thighs shaking as she spasms through her orgasm. He's only slightly shocked to find that his hips jerk forward helplessly as he comes right after her, her pleasure and sounds and taste and wetness proving to be just too much as he comes right in his underwear. 

    As they both come down, neither of them can quite find actual words to say, but both beam surprisingly shyly at each other as Jonathan cleans up with his now-ruined flannel before shoving it into his backpack - he’s not quite gross enough to actually never wash it, but it does cross his mind momentarily - and Nancy leans tiredly against him. ‘You OK there? Sorry for wearing you out,’ he says, teasing a little but mostly sincere. Nancy rolls her eyes fondly and squeezes his shoulder. ‘Hey now, you’re the one who just tried to dehydrate me,’ she mutters as she wrinkles her nose adorably. ‘Although, I think both of us could do with a shower now. And a nap. And you know, rehydration. Do you think I could pass that off as a chem group project if you come and be my lab partner in uh, your house?’ She looks at him pleadingly, and he has to admit that wearing sticky underwear for the rest of the day is probably not a great idea. ‘Probably not, but I’m willing to take the risk if you are. Come on, I’ll even let you nap in my Clash t-shirt,’ he says with a smile as he he gives the darkroom a final check before making a mental note to get his dessert some actual dessert back at his house as he walks her to his car.


End file.
